The Evolutionary Imperative
by cactusnell
Summary: Sherlock decides he wants children. After all, doesn't he owe it to the world?


Sherlock Holmes was spending yet another Sunday afternoon at the home of his best friends, Dr. and Mrs. John Watson. It had become a sort of unspoken tradition after the birth of their daughter Claire almost nine months ago. Sherlock seemed to crave human companionship much more these days than he had before his "death". Two years traveling around the continent, or even the world, completely separated from those who cared about him (and vice versa, although he would be loathe to admit it) had subtly changed his views on relationships of every kind. He knew now that he would die to protect those he cared for, few as they may be. He found that he craved these few attachments, that his life was made better by them. That he was made better by them.

He was literally bouncing the baby on his knee, and looking far more delighted than she was.

"Hold on there, mate. She's beginning to look a little green around the edges," John laughed as he reached for his daughter. Sherlock quickly shifted the child out of John's reach, but he did hold her more gently. John continued, jokingly, "Maybe you should consider getting one of your own."

Sherlock's reply startled his friend, "I am considering the possibility, John."

Mary leaned back further into the couch, wondering how Sherlock would explain this bombshell. Knowing him as well as she did, she assumed that he would that he would soon dress up this simple but unexpected statement in cold logic and scientific jargon until it didn't seem as earth-shattering as it actually was. John sat there slack-jawed. Mary was not disappointed.

"It's a simple biological imperative. Evolution at it's finest. You must concede that my brother and I are fine examples of the increased development of human intellect. For whatever reason, nature has combined whatever genes our parents contributed into an advanced form. Mycroft doesn't seem to recognize the fact that to deny our genetic gifts to the cause of human evolution would be a crime of not some small magnitude."

"Told you so," Mary said to herself. John was still slack-jawed.

"I have therefore decided that it is time for me to have children. You two have greatly contributed to my decision. I have found, after exposure to your offspring (currently this same offspring was sticking a wet finger in Uncle Sherlock's eye), that I would be good at it, as I am at practically everything to which I put my mind."

Claire sneezed and Sherlock casually wiped baby snot from his face with a finely monogrammed linen handkerchief

John's jaw finally moved as he said, "Have you been using my daughter as a practice baby?"

"Not...entirely."

Mary was stiffling a giggle as she took the baby from Sherlock. "You know it takes two to make one of these, Sherlock. Got anyone in mind?" she asked archly.

There was no doubt in Mary's, or even John's mind, as to who Sherlock had in mind. There was only one woman who could, or would, tolerate the the enormous twit sitting across from them. It spoke volumes about Sherlock Holmes, that as undeniably attractive as he was with his cheekbones, dark curly hair, and beautiful eyes, woman tended to flee in tears, disgust, or anger within five minutes of his opening his mouth. Yet Dr. Molly Hooper, "his" pathologist had been in love with him for years. John had often wondered about the strength the woman possessed in putting up his friend's behavior. She had born his unintentional (and sometimes intentional) insults, his false self-serving compliments, and his arrogance with grace, and later, humor. She provided what he needed when he needed it. John, however, was not sure that she would be onboard with providing him with this.

"Perhaps you ought to be discussing this with Molly before us?", John almost smirked.

"Interesting deductive reasoning, John, I am impressed. How did you arrive at the conclusion that it was Molly whom I was considering?"

"Face it, mate, when It comes to women who may be willing to, ah, procreate with you, well, that's a very small gene pool you'd be diving into! Really, though, all kidding aside, have you given any thought to the practicalities. I mean, do you intend to marry? Or just have kids? Or, bloody hell Sherlock, what is going on in that 'evolutionarily advanced' mind?"

"Studies indicate that children do best in an evironment created by stable pair-bonded parents," Sherlock announced.

"Been watching educational telly, have we?"

"Also, I am well aware of my eccentricities," Sherlock went on despite a snicker from Mary, "and I feel that Molly would complement my talents with her own. She is very intelligent. And she is all the things that I am not, kind, gentle, caring, et cetera. She would make an excellent mother."

"Her being a good mother is not what I worry about!"

Sherlock looked affronted. "John, you know I can do anything I put my mind to."

"There are other practicalities, Sherlock. While Molly receives a good salary from St. Bart's, you have no steady income. Mary and I are both professionals, but sometimes it's a struggle. If you had to provide for a child, or, as I suppose, multiple children since you want to spread your great genetic gifts to the widest extent, would you be able to provide? Think of food - children do eat, Sherlock, three meals a day, not like you. Education. Childcare. Clothing. Shelter! Sherlock, these things cost money. Scotland Yard doesn't pay you. You won't accept money from Mycroft. You take clients on the basis of how interesting their case is, not how much it pays. How does that fit in with your plans?"

As Mary was now practically giggling, John looked at her sharply, "What? Am I wrong?"

"John, dear, how long did you live with Sherlock? He's right, you know. Sometimes you look, but you don't observe." John looked baffled, so Mary continued. "Take a good look at your best friend. That Belstaff coat? 1300 pounds. Designer suits? Custom fitted shirts? And those hand crafted shoes? His parents live in a listed cottage in the countryside and travel the world for recreation! His brother lives in a bloody mansion!"

Understanding seemed to descend onto John's features, but all he could say was, "Sherlock doesn't care about money!"

"People who have it seldom have to."

"But we lived on beans and toast for an entire week after you blew the grocery budget on new lab equipment!"

"I like beans and toast," Sherlock said without a trace of emotion.

"You bloody git!"

Mary broke the tension with the question, "Have you discussed any of this with Molly?"

"Not yet, but I don't suppose there will be a problem. I'll just present the proposition as I have stated. She'll see the logic, and advantages." John rolled his eyes at Sherlock's comments. "Really, John, you have a problem with this?"

"Well, you might want to use the word 'proposal' instead of 'proposition', for starters."

"Point taken."

"Sherlock, just don't be too disappointed if things don't work out as you hope. You can't just take everything for granted. Take some advice. Just tell you care for her, and ask her to marry you. She doesn't need to hear all about your plans to enhance humanity. Keep it simple. I know you, Sherlock. I know you well enough to know that you shrink from displays of sentiment, but this is one time that such a display is necessary."

"I know you're trying to help, John, but Molly is highly intelligent. She will understand my motivation, and react accordingly. My mother is sending my grandmother's ring, and I expect Molly to be wearing it as soon as possible."

"How about a wager, Sherlock?"

"Wager?"

"I'll give you seven days to get that ring on her finger. If you don't you owe me a Belstaff coat."

"Don't be ridiculous, John, you don't have the height to wear it effectively!"

"I don't care if I look like bloody Yoda in his flowing robes! I want, for once in my life, to own a 1300 pound coat!"

"And if I win?"

"Claire's middle name will be Sherlock". Mary groaned at John's announcement.

"Done," Sherlock said, and confidently shook John's hand.

The following afternoon, ring in his pocket, Sherlock made his way to St. Bart's lab knowing that his pathologist would be there. He strode into said lab coat flapping, curls bouncing, and eyes shining, and took up his position at his favorite microscope. He pulled a petri dish out of a pocket, positioned it under the lens. There was nothing in the dish, but Molly didn't need to know that.

"Molly, I've been thinking..."

"No news there!"

"Very funny. Anyway, I've been thinking, ahem, I'm not getting any younger..."

"Again, stating the obvious."

"Anyway," he started over again, glaring at her over the microscope, "As I said, I'm not getting any younger, and I have begun to think about what legacy I can leave the world."

"My god, Sherlock, what on earth are you going on about?"

"I think it would be a shame for the Holmes genes not to make a contribution to the evolutionary development of our species. I do not believe at this late date that Mycroft has any intention of reproducing. Therefore it's up to me to..."

"That really is an excellent idea, but why consider your age, or Mycroft's, Your biological clock doesn't matter as much as the prospective mother's..."

"Which brings me to my point," he continued, hoping she wouldn't be offended by his bringing up her age.

_"_I take it you've already investigated that sperm bank that specializes in providing high IQ material to suitable women?"

"What?"

"It should suit your needs. Most sperm is donated without the male having any say whom it fertilizes. This is a much more detailed approach, yet still completely anonymous. Each participant gets to choose which attributes they prefer. I wouldn't mention that you consider yourself a high functioning sociopath, however. Might turn some people off."

This was not going as expected. "Molly, I thought you didn't really believe I was a high functioning sociopath."

"Well, I do have my doubts about the high functioning part..."

Sherlock was smart enough to know when to retreat and regroup. He walked slowly from the lab, coat hanging at his sides, curls flopping, and eyes a bit dimmer.

Sherlock decided not to broach the subject further until that Thursday, day four of the bet. He had planted the seed, so to speak, figuratively if not literally, and gave Molly time to think about the possibility. He returned to her lab in just slightly diminished spirits.

"Hello, Sherlock," Molly greeted him warmly.

He leaned against the lab table, not far from where she was working. "You know, Molly, I think you may have gotten the wrong idea the other day."

"Oh?'

"Well, if I were to have children, I would want to bring them up. I see how happy Claire has made John and Mary. I think I could be happy molding the next generation..."

"Oh, yes, I see. Have you considered a paid surrogate? You could screen women for genetic compatibility, then raise the child yourself. You'd have to have a nanny, of course. And Mrs. Hudson would be happy to help, I'm sure."

Sherlock looked down at his phone. "Must be going, Lestrade needs me." He turned on his heel and left quickly. Round two to Molly Hooper. Damn the woman for making this so difficult!

There was nothing wrong with Molly's hearing. She was well aware that his phone had not signaled any incoming texts.

Since time was becoming an issue, Sherlock was getting a little desperate as he approached Molly's flat on Saturday He would present his case more clearly this time, and surely win out. As he climbed the stairs to her door he was surprised by her approach,

"Sherlock, what are you doing here?"

"Molly, we need to talk. I fear your are still misunderstanding my intentions. When I said I would prefer to raise a child of my own, I meant as a part of a pair-bonded couple..."

"Been watching educational programs again, Sherlock?"

He started to wave aside her comments, but she continued on, "Look, Sherlock, I really don't have time to talk about this now. There's been an emergency at work. I Imagine you'll be hearing from Greg soon..."

"Who?"

"Lestrade!" Molly rolled her eyes.

"Oh, Graham."

"Have you considered a matchmaker? Not one of your ordinary computer dating services, but one which deals exclusively with marriage. There are quite a few reputable ones in the greater London area. One of my girlfriends tried it, and she's been happily married for two years, with twins on the way! If you're serious about this, maybe you should try it. I don't know if I'd hold out much hope, though."

"And why is that?" Sherlock asked archly.

"Well, you are, after all, you. And we all know how that works on a social level. But don't despair, Sherlock. You are reasonably attractive, somewhat gainfully employed, and live at an enviable address in central London."

He was trying come up with a reasonable response when he did, in fact, receive an urgent request from Lestrade to meet him at a crime scene. Feeling defeated, he excused himself and hailed a cab.

On Sunday morning Sherlock sat at 221B Baker Street and dejectedly studied his grandmother's ring. He was intelligent enough to realize that his failure was entirely his own fault. He had long since given up thinking of his pathologist as "Mousy Molly". She was anything but. She was kindness and gentleness and spirit. She smiled at him as he glowered at her. She had loved him while he used and belittled her in his vain attempt to to diminish her importance to him. She counted to him, and he had always counted on her. He came to realize that she was certainly intelligent enough to guess what had been on his mind and in his heart all week long, and was, in all likelihood, trying to avoid his question so as not to hurt him. He wondered when she had stopped loving him, at what point had his selfishness, arrogance, and vanity proved too much. He pictured her in his mind and tried to smile, but what passed for his heart wouldn't let him. That was when he heard the knock at the door.

"Go away, whoever you are!"

But the door opened and in walked Molly. "Sherlock, aren't you going over to John and Mary's today?" she asked as she plopped down on the arm of his chair.

"No!"

"This doesn't have anything to do with that silly bet, does it?"

Sherlock looked at her with a newly found respect for her deviousness, as enlightenment slowly dawned.

"You knew all along," he stated, not questioned.

"Mary has a big mouth. And she hates the name 'Sherlock'! I thought I should hold out until John won his coat. He's too short to carry it off, though, don't you think? So where's this ring I heard about?"

Sherlock slowly smiled, some of his confidence being restored, "You put me through hell, you know?"

"What's one week compared to the years you put me through?" she snickered, and bent down to kiss him. "You really can be a bloody git, you know!"

"I know. It's a good thing you like that sort of stuff," he said as he pulled her onto his lap and returned her kiss in kind, and then some.

"You know, I can just cancel out on the Watsons for today. We can break the news tomorrow when we deliver the coat."

"But what will we do today?" Molly smiled enticingly.

"We'll think of something," Sherlock said, as he rose from his chair with Molly in his arms. "After all, we do want to make our contribution to human evolution."


End file.
